


Fine

by attackofthemutantcheesecake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Greg makes everything easy, Mycroft is silly in love, but both of them together is the easiest thing in the world, mostly because Mycroft wants to make everything complicated, oh god the fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:27:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attackofthemutantcheesecake/pseuds/attackofthemutantcheesecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five times that everything was fine and the one time it wasn't (but not in the way you think).</p><p>Where Gregory Lestrade is the most understanding person ever and Mycroft is the luckiest. But then Greg is pretty lucky too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Long time reader, first time writer for this pairing. I would have wanted to polish it a bit more but the deadline coincided with a majority of my exams so I'm sorry if it's a little crappy. Unbeta'd and un-britpicked so all mistakes are mine. Drop me a comment if you notice anything wrong, please.
> 
> This was written for eatcisbutts in the summermystradeexchange because really this ship needs more things made for it. I hope you like it!

-5

‘Detective Inspector,’ Mycroft walked quickly toward the man sat behind the ambulance sporting a fresh bandage around the whole of his forearm. The shock of red against white was dulled by the yellowish glow of streetlights, but it still looked wrong.

‘Mycroft, didn’t you get my text? Sherlock’s already been brought to the A&E,’ Lestrade stood, waving away a medic.

‘I’m sure Sherlock’s condition is as far from fatal as possible. Please, sit. You have blood on your face.’

He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at the substantial splotch of blood against a grey temple. At least three people would find their employment terminated before sunrise. Inaccurate information about his brother’s affairs would not be tolerated especially if a team should have been sent in the place of a solitary DI with not a single weapon or backup.

‘That’s not mine. Look, I’m fine alright? You couldn’t have known the whole gang would turn up,’ Lestrade evaded the next swipe of cloth and held up a hand. ‘And even if you could, your idiot brother would have found a way to get himself into trouble anyway.’

‘Yes, he would have. Now stay still. I find that I do not much like the sight of blood you.’ Mycroft chose to ignore the cheeky smile in favour of folding his handkerchief so no stains were visible. ‘You must let me repay you for this favour. I would not have asked it of you if I had known that my intelligence was faulty.’ The last word was said with a disgusted sneer. Five people, including the incompetent mobile dispatcher who took four seconds too long to forward his orders to the security unit he had on standby.

‘How about dinner, then? I’m starving.’

‘Of course. Let me have the car brought around.’

The sleek government vehicle came up to the police barrier and Mycroft opened the door for Lestrade to slide in first. He barely resisted the urge to jump when a hand brushed against his shoulder.

‘I think that you’ve earned calling me by my first name if we’re going on a date.’

The hand lingered and he saw another flash of teeth. It took him an embarrassing amount of time to compose himself enough to get into the car, toward the sound of Gregory’s laughter 

-4

‘I’d have known if you were trying to trick me.’

Mycroft looked up from contemplating his freshly topped up wineglass to quirk a brow at Detec—no, it was Gregory now, wasn’t it?

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I told you to pick your favourite place. I was expecting something a tad more posh, but I know you’re not fond of the microscopic portions they serve there nowadays.’

There was nothing else to do but smile. He was surprised at how unused it felt on his lips. Smiling was a requirement in his line of work, for superiors and inferiors alike. He’d perfected using facial expressions as another weapon in his arsenal. It felt different to be doing it without an endgame. Well, an endgame unrelated to work or his brother, the only two things he seemed to have in his life.

And now there was Gregory with whom a fragile thing had blossomed. He tried to be careful in showing the reach of his influence, all the things he could indulge in if only he wished it, but Gregory disliked deception. And he was finding that in this, he disliked it as well.

‘Hey.’ He was startled from his thoughts by a rough hand curling around his own on the table. ‘It’s fine.’

Mycroft forced himself to meet Gregory’s eyes, to read his expression and ascertain that it really was. As always the lined face was an open book, but he didn’t want to count on his skill at deduction. He turned his palm upward to tangle their fingers and squeezed a little.

‘Is it?’

‘You’re posh and expensive, condescending, demanding, an overbearing git.’ Mycroft stiffened and tried to lean back but the hand on his only tightened to keep him in place. ‘But most of it’s an act you have to put on for all the other overbearing gits you deal with every day. I’m here to make sure that when you don’t have to work, you can quit the routine. You chose this restaurant because it makes you happy, not because it’s so expensive, I’ll have to save up so it can be my treat some time. But I’ll do that anyway.’

Gregory grinned and pulled away, ‘If you can learn to eat takeaway and drink my crap tea, I can deal with all the snobby bastards looking at me like I belong in the kitchen.’

‘I can have them transferred to a research outpost in Antarctica,’ Mycroft quipped reflexively.

It was gratifying to see the smug delight in the quirk of Gregory’s mouth.

‘Promise?’

“For a year.”

He couldn’t quite bring himself to care that they attracted a bit of attention when Gregory coughed too loudly into a wineglass.

-3

_Off to save the world again eh? Next week’s fine. Be safe -GL_

Mycroft ran a thumb against the pixelated GL and reread the message until the screen went dark. He refused to count the number of times he’d had to reschedule this particular date, but the number was still in the back of his mind. Six times in as many days. Next time he would stonewall all attempts to hold the Olympics in England.

‘ETA is three minutes sir. I’ve sent all pertinent files to your tablet,’ Anthea said from her seat beside him. There was a brief pause and then, ‘If I may?’

He hummed and waved her on.

‘You asked me to schedule your day without a lunch break but after this meeting, it’s that cretin from Finance in your office from one to two thirty.’

The wrinkle of disgust on his nose matched the one on Anthea’s perfectly.

‘Alas, what would I do without you to rebuff his advances?’ he smirked. ‘Reschedule our next meeting on my breakfast with the Queen.’

They shared a conspiratorial smile and Anthea resumed working on her Blackberry.

By the time they returned to the office, he was glad for the freed hour and a half for lunch. Despite knowing it wasn’t, his just concluded two hour meeting had him convinced that stupidity was contagious and he feared infection.

‘Please bring some sandwiches in, and tea,’ he called to the woman manning the desk in front of his office as he opened the door. They circulated too often for him to bother learning their names.

‘Oi! No need for that. Can’t have all this going to waste.’

Gregory was sitting in one of the intentionally uncomfortable wooden-backed chairs in front of his desk, mobile in hand. A hamper from Fortnum and Mason was on the floor, on top of it a paper bag, and on the table a tin of Earl Grey with a tea set.

He retracted his request for provisions and closed the door behind him.

‘Gregory, what brings you to my office?’

The man in question pushed up off the seat and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

‘Anthea texted and said you’d be in for lunch. Since we can’t have dinner together, I decided to surprise you with this.’

‘Oh.’ For a moment, Mycroft just stood there. ‘I’m sorry about tonight.’

‘I get to see you now, don’t I? Come on then.’

‘Yes, of course. We should adjourn to the other table. Those chairs are not meant for comfort.’

The hamper had biscuits, preserves, and chocolates while more substantial finger foods were in the paper bag. Mycroft brought the pot and cups over to pour them tea.

‘I hope you don’t have allergies. I forgot to ask before making these,’ Greg motioned to the neat rows of filo parcels of chicken, onion tartlets and shrimp bouchee lined up in a cardboard box.

‘No allergies. I did not know that cooking was in your list of commendable virtues.’

‘I haven’t had time to cook much, but you’ve rubbed off on me I think. Easier to eat healthy if I can see what’s going into my food.’

Conversation was sparse, but the quiet wasn’t uncomfortable. Mycroft felt the tension seep out of his muscles and blessed stillness wrap around his mind. It was rare that he indulged in social associations purely for fulfilling his need for closeness and human interaction without pretence. He liked that Gregory gave him that. He liked that he had it at all.

‘Mycroft? I should be going. I only have fifteen minutes to get back to the Yard.’

While he was wool-gathering, he hadn’t noticed that Gregory had begun tidying up.

‘You should have left the mess. You’re a guest.’ Apparently, neatness was another commendable virtue he hadn’t known about.

Gregory chuckled and came to lean over him in his chair. A moment passed just sharing breath and Mycroft smiled a small smile when he felt tentative fingers brush through the hair behind his ear. He leant up to finally close the miniscule distance between their slightly parted lips. It was quick, warm, and concluded entirely too soon- quite like how their meetings have gone these past months. That would have to change.

-2

‘Oh thank God.’

Strong arms hauled him through the doorway and he was pushed and prodded toward the old leather sofa in the living room. It sagged on one side but was strangely comfortable. Also strange that he thought his spatial awareness was excellent and yet it felt as though more than the usual number of limbs was pinning him down.

Mycroft hadn’t expected the warm welcome. He’d known at every instance that he wilfully ignored Gregory’s texts. These were things people in relationships told each other, were they not? A periodic appraisal of their whereabouts, emotional wellbeing, remarkable aspects of their day. It was certainly something Gregory did regularly, whether through text or their mundane talks during meals and car rides. He was new to the concept and needed occasional prompting when there was a lull in the conversation, but Gregory seemed not to mind. The five days of radio silence with no previous or concurrent mention of where he was going and what he was going to do was most likely not on the list of things Gregory Would Not Mind.

Considering it was a long list and that he had forgotten to call ahead- _him!_ \- because he was bloody exhausted and just wanted a bath, a shoulder rub, and tea, he was already relieved that the door wasn’t slammed back in his face.

As it was, he waited for the other shoe to drop. Perhaps he would be sent back home in the next five minutes. Perhaps the warm breathing near his neck would become the harsh whisper of rejection he’d been expecting since this entire relationship found the gall to materialize. But he wasn’t and it didn’t, and he let himself lift an arm to hold them closer together.

Just as he thought he was going to fall asleep, Gregory finally spoke, ‘Did you get hurt?’

‘No.’

‘Wasn’t there reception in the part of the world you were in?’

‘There was.’

‘Couldn’t you have told me you were leaving, at the very least?’

Mycroft hesitated. The question was casual, as the others had been. ‘I wanted to, but no.’

He felt Gregory’s head shift in what was possibly a nod.

‘That’s fine. I hope someday we can make up a code or something so I don’t worry too much.’

A final tightly wound ball of anxiety released somewhere in Mycroft’s lungs at the smile he felt pressed against his shoulder. He dearly hoped that if there was ever a universal system of checks and balances, he’d done enough to deserve this.

-1

It came unexpectedly, during one of the fortuitous instances where a day off coincided for them both and they spent it in one of the Holmes country estates. The morning was for a lie in and brunch in bed, and the afternoon for lazing around in front of the fireplace. Gregory was concentrating on sipping chocolate with his head in Mycroft’s lap, who was reading for leisure for the first time in what felt like months, a handful of silver hair in one hand.

The mug came away with a spot of foam on Gregory’s nose, going unnoticed for a minute until Mycroft withdrew his hand to turn a page.

‘You are ridiculous,’ he tutted and leaned down to kiss it away.

He stayed bent, pausing at the sudden shift in mood, arrested by the intensity in Gregory’s eyes he was familiar with only during lovemaking. A callused palm cupped his cheek, the thumb stroking small circles on the skin under his eye. He could feel the tension stretching painfully thin until it snapped in an instant when Gregory broke out into a wide smile.

‘I just wanted you to know I love you.’

Mycroft froze.

Gregory went back to trying not to spill chocolate all over his neck. When he took another successful sip, he reinitiated eye contact.

‘You don’t need to say it back if you’re not ready. We’re fine. I know you care for me and that’s enough if you want it to be.’

They stared at each other for a bit longer and then Gregory shrugged, turning his attention back to his mug.

It couldn’t be that simple. Nothing was ever that simple.

‘Relax. Go back to your book, love.’ The garbled words were barely intelligible around a mouthful of ceramic. Gregory shot him a wink. A wink.

Mycroft couldn’t help but think that this was how he wanted to spend the rest of his life; warm, amused, and slightly confused with a lapful of Gregory Lestrade. 

+1

There was always an excess of fidgeting involved whenever Gregory wanted something. It was quite endearing to see that his own whims would be consented to without pause and barely any questions, but requests from his _husband_ \- he luxuriated in the ability to use the word even only in his head- could take much needling on his part before they would be voiced.

‘Dear,’ Mycroft sighed and came to put an arm around Gregory’s waist as he cut up vegetables on the kitchen counter. ‘You are wrong if you think I cannot tell that you have something to ask of me.’

Gregory only bit his lip and assembled the green salad in a bowl, studiously avoiding having idle hands. But when the last serving platter was set on the table and there was nothing left but to eat, he sat heavily and motioned for Mycroft to do the same.

‘I--,’ another wringing of fingers, a crossing and recrossing of feet.

Gregory straightened and the characteristic stubborn expression descended on his features.

‘There’s something I’m not fine with.’

Mycroft only nodded. He was used to his _husband’s_ \- this was a serious talk, he shouldn’t smile like a lovesick fool- sentences cutting off in easily misinterpreted phrases.

‘I know that you need to keep appearances up in your work and I’m not demanding anything, just if it wouldn’t be any trouble for you. Well if you could do some minor things to make it happen that would be great but if it’s too much to ask then I really won’t be offended.’

‘ _Husband_ mine,’ if he could stare down Vladimir Putin, he could very well supress a schoolgirl giggle. ‘I would like to eat in the next half century.’

A deep breath. ‘Maybe you could wear your wedding ring on your ring finger, and on the left hand?’

Mycroft glanced at the platinum band on the third finger of his right hand where the old golden decoy had been. He was accustomed to the weight there but it would be no spectacular feat to change its position. ‘That’s a simple enough thing to do.’

The magnitude of relief on Gregory’s face suggested that it was not. Its implications were set aside in favour of having their beef Wellington warm but as they washed dishes, the reason occurred to him.

‘Oh, Gregory. It seems that my love cannot save you completely from having these idiotic ideas of yours.’

He grabbed his _husband_ \- this time he didn’t even try to hold back the soppy grin- sudsy hands and all, around the shoulders and squeezed hard. This man who was his, even before the paperwork and the jewellery that announced it to anyone who bothered to look, whom he could touch and kiss and be near to without having to ask, who made everything he thought should be difficult about them so damnably easy that to secure a lifetime partnership was a technicality, only second to the claim Gregory had on him.

‘If you doubt anything else, never this. As you are mine, I am yours. Completely, deeply, unquestionably yours.’

And because it had played out like a ridiculous soap opera so far, he sealed it with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes Mycroft is a bit silly especially at the end I AM SORRY, but I just- I love a Mycroft that's blissfully in love. And it was harder than I thought to write in his POV. Next time will definitely be the other way around.
> 
> Was it weird that I used Gregory for a majority of the story instead of Lestrade? Tell me! Tell me things! Tell me how to do better!


End file.
